the shape you've grown
by Lachesis Grimm
Summary: In which things do not go to plan, and everyone has a hell of a good time anyway. A sequel to "a love that won't sit still."


AN: The title of this story, and the quote from the beginning, are from Vienna Teng's "Never Look Away."

* * *

 _for you are made of nebulas and novas and night sky  
you're made of memories you bury or live by_  
\- Never Look Away

His bed was empty, again.

Sif leapt lightly onto the bed, fixing him with an irritated gaze as she circled the foot of the right side in a discontented manner.

"I know how you feel," he said as he picked up his cell and began to scroll through his contacts. "I miss her, too."

He hit dial as Sif huffed in frustration and languidly stretched across the empty half of the bed.

"Is this my goodnight call, then?" Jemma asked teasingly when she picked up.

"More like your 'please come home' call," he replied, relaxing into the pillows. "I'll even come pick you up."

"No, no. We both agreed that this would be a good idea, so we have to stick with it." She paused, then laughed quietly. "Besides, Bobbi made her spare bed with her precious Star Wars sheets. It would be rude of me not to sleep on them."

He had to laugh at that. "Well, if Bobbi is letting you sleep on Chewbacca…"

"You understand, then."

"Still, I miss you."

"I miss you, too. But we only have six more days," she reminded him, her voice soft. "It might feel like an eternity, but it's not very long."

"You are right on both counts." He reached out to stroke a hand over Sif's head. She flicked a bored glance at him, but otherwise barely reacted. "Sif misses you, too."

"And I miss Sif." She sighed quietly, and the slight mournful tone to her sigh made him wish that she was close enough to comfort. "But I do have a question," she continued, her voice brighter.

"Go for it."

She laughed, low and playful. "What are you wearing?"

Surprised in the most pleasant way, he chuckled. "Boxers and a t-shirt. And you?"

"An undershirt I stole from your dresser," she answered promptly, a mischievous note to her voice.

"And?" he asked, grinning.

"Socks."

"Just socks?"

"Hmm." There was a rustle of fabric, as if she had lifted the blankets to check. "Just socks," she confirmed.

"You are a tease, Jemma," he told her, imagining exactly what he would do to her if she were lying next to him in the same ensemble. He had no doubt that she was imagining the same. "Six more days."

"Six more days," she said in a satisfied voice, her words an obvious promise.

* * *

Phil had never expected to have a second wedding, or to be a husband again. Now that the moment was here, he was- he was calm.

Even better, he was at peace. And so fiercely happy that his memories of his first wedding were just that: memories, not ghosts.

"I'm so happy for you," Sarah told him before the ceremony as she adjusted his tie. "I know brides are traditionally the ones who glow, but you look pretty bright today, too."

"I have been feeling luminescent," he said teasingly, giving her a warm smile. "You are my favorite sister, you know."

Her eyes became a bit teary, but after a second she gave him a mock scowl. "You don't have a sister."

"I have you, don't I?"

She laughed and wiped the back of one hand against her eyes. "Fine, you have one sister."

"Exactly. My favorite one."

Sarah punched him lightly on the shoulder, a few tears dripping down her cheeks as she continued to laugh. "Smart-ass. And," she added, a glimpse of mischief in her eyes, "you're my favorite brother."

She didn't have a brother. He resisted the urge to ruffle her hair.

He took his place at the front of the church, doing his best to smile at the crowd at large as the last few minutes ticked by. His friends and remaining family members, Jemma's friends and her family- immediate family, anyway, minus her youngest brother.

Any issues he had with his future in-laws, however, were not the focus of the day. Finally, the doors opened, and there was Jemma, backlit by the sun. "I don't need bridesmaids and I don't need to be given away," she had told him firmly. "I'll make the walk by myself."

And so she did. And she was beautiful.

His first wedding had been in a field. His last was in a church. As he made his vows and slid the ring onto Jemma's finger, the late afternoon sun spilled through the stained glass, casting a kaleidoscope of color against her white gown.

A benediction, he decided, and to the amusement of the crowd kissed his bride at least five minutes too early.

* * *

"It's charming," Jemma said diplomatically, looking as if she were trying to hide a smile. Phil took one long look at his lovely bride- still in her veil and gown, the skirt carefully held up to keep it from dragging on the ground- then back at the cabin that had looked like the perfect wedding night retreat in the photos. In the dark, it was difficult to get a clear picture, but the light over the front door made it look less like a fairy-tale cottage and more like a place that might have a torture chamber in the basement.

"It had great reviews," he offered lamely, hoping the interior would be an improvement.

"I'm sure it did." She kissed the corner of his mouth, the hand not holding up her skirt wrapping around his bicep. "It looks very cozy. And really, we don't need much more than a warm bed tonight."

A strong breeze caught the end of her veil, molding the lace against the side of her body as she shivered. He made up his mind in an instant, taking her hand and giving her his brightest smile. The cabin would be fine for one night, and it would be far better to stay here and keep his wife warm than to get back in the car and go searching for the nearest hotel.

Besides, Bobbi had already gone to the trouble to bring their bags ahead of time, and if the place had been truly dire she would have said something.

"There's supposed to be a fireplace." He drew the key from his pocket, keeping hold of Jemma's hand as they ascended the porch steps. "You, me, and a pile of blankets…"

"I like the way you think."

She gave a surprised laugh when he swept her up into his arms. "Bad luck for the bride to trip on the threshold," he said with a grin.

"Of her house, I think."

"I'll carry you over that one, too."

He set her on her feet in the living room, which to his relief was both cozy and scrupulously clean. "Are you hungry?" he asked softly.

"No." She reached up and began to loosen his tie. "Very eager to get out of this dress, though."

"Maybe I could help with that."

"Maybe you could." She shot him a sly look. "I would appreciate it if you would undo the buttons in the back… if you think you can keep your hands to yourself. I want to change into something pretty for you."

"This is pretty," he murmured, tracing a fingertip over the whisper of silk that covered one shoulder. "What are you wearing under this?"

"An uncomfortable corset."

"We should definitely get you out of that, then," he teased. "Let me help."

"No. If I let you help, you'll distract me and I'll never get to change." She sucked in a breath when he bent down and kissed the crook of her neck. "Your lips are very distracting, you know."

"Wait till you see what I can do with my hands."

He turned her gently when she laughed, sweeping her veil to the side so that he could attend to the line of pearl buttons that marched down her back. All were caught in snug loops, all felt impossibly tiny between his fingers.

"Is this the offending corset?" he asked in a murmur, pausing for a moment to slide his fingertips across the gleaming silk.

"Pretty, but very confining," she confessed. "If I had realized what an annoyance it would be, I never would have bought it."

He grinned, and undid the last two buttons. "Go be rid of it, then."

She stepped out of her shoes, losing three inches of height and causing her skirts to pool around her feet. "Just a few minutes," she promised, sauntering away with her undone dress held against her.

And then he was alone with just the memory of her perfume, so hungry for her he could hardly stand it. To distract himself he checked the small kitchenette, taking stock of the food and wine in the fridge. He could open the champagne now- or maybe it would be better to start a fire first, then make up a plate of those chocolate-dipped strawberries and go seduce his wife.

He got as far as positioning the wood and kindling, and was reaching for the matches when he heard her begin to laugh. "Phil?" she called, her amusement very evident. "Come here, please."

He hastened down the short hall, though he abruptly stopped in his tracks when he saw her dressed only in delicate, dainty white lingerie.

"Was this in the listing?" she asked him, still grinning, a mischievous look in her eyes. She sat on the bed, her weight causing the mattress to shift dramatically under her. "I've never even slept on a waterbed, let alone had sex on one."

His plan to light a fire was forgotten as he appreciatively eyed the lace that curved perfectly against her breasts. "A first for me, too- and no, the listing didn't mention a waterbed."

"Then we'd better test it." She held out her hand to him, her grin softening into a warm smile. "For science."

"I was going to light a few candles." He stepped toward her anyway, unable to resist her. "Open a bottle of champagne…"

"All things that will keep." She moved back to recline against the gently rocking surface of the mattress, her body lovely against the crisp white of the sheets. "After doing without you, I'm disinclined to wait."

"The worst week of sleep I've had in years," he agreed as he toed off his shoes. "Cold, lonely- even Sif was annoyed. She's gotten so used to sleeping on your feet."

Jemma lay with one arm behind her head, her expression one of unabashed enjoyment as she watched him strip to his underwear. "I would say that spending the week before the wedding apart was one of the worst ideas I've had, but I admit that I'm… excited." She shifted slightly, a light blush on her cheeks. "I've spent a lot of time thinking about you."

He knelt on the bed beside her, taking a moment to adjust to the buoyancy of the mattress. "I've been thinking about you, too," he said, lying down on his side and propping himself up on one arm. With his free hand he lightly touched the soft skin of her inner thighs, smiling when she shivered, then moved his hand to the band of lace curving over one of her hips. "I dreamed about you."

Her smile grew at that. "What was I doing?" she asked softly.

"Reading." He slid his hand up to cover her belly, brushing his thumb into her navel. "You had your free hand right here, over a baby." He watched as her expression softened further, a warm look in her eyes. "You were beautiful."

"A premonition, maybe."

"I hope. Though," he added with a quick grin, "the carpet was neon green with blue polka dots, for some reason. Let's avoid that."

She laughed at that, and when she pulled him toward her he came willingly, enjoying the feel of her soft curves beneath him.

"I've missed this," she said softly, brushing the fingertips of one hand down his face. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too." He took a moment to study the soft, happy expression on her face, the same one that he had seen when he had drawn back her veil. "Are you happy to have a husband?"

"As happy as you are to have a wife, I suspect," she replied with an impish grin, and drew him down for a kiss.

"What are your thoughts on this mattress?" he asked as he nuzzled the curve of her neck, one hand underneath her as he attempted to unhook her bra. The way she was lazily stroking his hair was distracting, in the most pleasant way.

"I'm withholding judgment until the end, but-"

She gasped as he lightly bit the upper curve of one of her breasts, and he smiled against her skin. "But?"

"-but I don't think we'll be trading in our bed," she finished, a breathy tone to her voice.

Phil had to agree. The situation was definitely novel, but he didn't appreciate expending effort to keep his balance on the swaying surface of the bed when he could be using that same effort to make Jemma come.

He was well on his way to achieving that goal when disaster struck. The tip of her right breast was in his mouth, his fingers were stroking her clit, Jemma was making the most lovely noises- and then her hands stilled against his back. "I'm wet," she said in confusion, the suggestive words not at all loverlike.

"What?" he asked, pulling back, only to feel the lap of water against his knees as the mattress shifted under him. " _Shit_."

They scrambled off the bed, Jemma beginning to giggle as they both took in the wet sheets and the small pool of water. Phil turned to look at her. "Did we break it?" he asked, feeling amused himself, and was pleased when her giggles turned into full-out laughter. "I can't imagine how."

"We hadn't even gotten to the truly strenuous portion of activities." She shook her head, scattering droplets from the damp ends of her hair. "Is this the only bedroom?"

"Yes," he admitted, laughing again. He reached forward, lifting her discarded bra from its damp resting place. "You'll wash this and wear it for me again, right?"

"Yes." She took the bra from him and placed it on top of her suitcase. "I promise. Can we do anything for the bed?"

They both considered the waterlogged bed seriously, and almost simultaneously shrugged. "We'd need a hose, probably," he said, remembering the overgrowth on the side of the cabin. "It doesn't seem to be getting worse."

She giggled again, muffling the sound with one hand. "We'd better call the manager, at least." She shot him a mirthful look, and he was newly reminded that his bride was standing next to him dressed only in a scrap of white lace. "And I want to take a shower. Who knows how long that water has been in there- or how much bacteria it's been breeding."

With a slightly mournful sigh he picked up his phone, dialing the manager as Jemma pulled a colorful robe from her suitcase and carried it toward the bathroom, casting an inviting look back at him as she went. He was almost glad when the call went through to voicemail, and after leaving a terse message he set the phone aside and followed her.

The water was already on, and he could dimly see her outline through the frosted glass of the door. The underwear she had been wearing had been neatly placed on the counter, which he was glad of: he really did hope that she would wear that ensemble again for him, preferably without interruptions.

Jemma smiled when he joined her. "No answer?"

"No answer," he confirmed, curving his hands over her hips. "But we have a bottle of champagne in the fridge, and I'll start a fire. The couch looks cozy enough for a few hours."

"Or even a night. I'm not sure the proprietor will be calling you back any time soon." She drew him down into a kiss, pressing herself against him.

And it was lovely, and so very promising, until the water abruptly turned cold and they jerked apart, startled.

"It's hopeless," she said after scrambling out of the shower, her teeth chattering as she wrapped a towel around herself. She was still grinning, amazingly. "Will the roof fall in once we finally get to the orgasms, do you think?"

"God, I hope not." He handed her another towel for her soaked hair, smiling despite himself. "But don't worry, sweetheart," he said, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her close, nipping her neck as she laughed. "You can shelter under me when the ceiling falls."

"Sounds intriguing." She caught his earlobe between her teeth lightly, only to release a second later when he snuck a hand under her towel. "A fire, please," she said, pulling back enough for him to see her smile. "I'd prefer not to consummate our marriage in a bathroom."

"Fair."

He helped her into the silky robe, tying the sash himself before catching her left hand in his. "I love you," he said simply, and pressed a kiss to the palm of her beringed hand.

"I know." Her smile was warm and bright. "I love you, too."

She purloined a pair of his socks on their way out of the bedroom, and as he checked the flue- which to his relief appeared to be in working order- she curled up on the couch in a nest of blankets. "It really is a charming little cottage, other than the bed and the lack of hot water," she said. "And it is very clean."

"That's a lower bar than I was aiming for," he replied as he lit the kindling. "Especially for our wedding night."

"Oh, I know," she said with a laugh. "My husband is a romantic of the first order, and that is not a complaint."

"A fact, then?" he asked, grinning.

"A fact, and one of the things I love about you." She returned his grin when he glanced back at her. "I enjoy being cosseted, and I don't mind telling you that."

She would have minded saying such a thing even six months ago, and it still delighted him to hear her admit to it now. "At least this is only for one night." he said, moving the fire screen back into position before making his way to the fridge for the champagne.

"I've been looking forward to seeing the ocean again. And I may have bought a few new bikinis." She ran a hand through her damp hair, looking pleased in a way that had him very curious about said bikinis.

"Are they very skimpy?" he asked as he popped the cork. "What color are they?"

"You'll be finding out soon enough."

"I'm looking forward to it." He deftly poured two glasses of champagne, and carried them both to the couch to offer one to his new wife. "I hear Tahiti is a magical place," he told her with a warm smile, easily imagining Jemma in one of the silk-draped beds displayed on the hotel's website- though given how badly advertising had failed him with this cabin, he did worry a little.

"It will be magical for me." She took a sip, her eyes steady on him, her expression teasing. "Even if the bed breaks, or a hurricane strikes."

"I wouldn't mind breaking the bed, but hopefully there will be no hurricanes." He stroked a finger against the inside curve of her ankle, then looked up at a sudden rumble of thunder. "Speaking of hurricanes…"

"Shall we take bets on how long it will take before the power goes out?"

"I-"

The lights flickered overhead, and they exchanged a look. Jemma looked as if she was enjoying herself immensely.

"Will a serial killer show up on our doorstep next?" she asked calmly as the power went out altogether, leaving them with only the glow of the firelight. "I'm fairly sure I've seen this movie before."

"Don't tempt fate, love."

She placed her champagne flute carefully on the floor, then moved her hands to toy with the ends of her sash. "I think we should consummate this marriage before anything else happens," she told him, a small smile on her lips. "Just in case there are lions or tigers or rabid bears about, just waiting to break down our door."

He placed his own glass to the side, then took one end of her sash in his fingertips, giving it a slight tug. "It is a comfortable couch."

"Very."

The bow she had tied slid loose easily, allowing the silk of her robe to pool at her sides. "You're beautiful in the firelight," he told her, watching as she blushed. "My Jemma."

"I love hearing my handsome husband call me that." She crooked a finger at him, still blushing. "Come kiss me."

"Where?" he asked with a quick smile, then claimed her lips before she could do more than laugh.

The couch was comfortable, but cramped. After a few minutes he tossed the blankets onto the floor, then scooped up his bride and moved her to the pile of quilts.

"Are you finally going to finish what you started?" Jemma asked him softly as she slid her fingertips lightly down the curve of his spine. "I was enjoying it."

"It will be even better," he promised, one hand low on her belly. "Your patience should be rewarded."

"Even if lightning strikes?"

"Even if a bear breaks in," he breathed, moving his hand lower as he kissed her.

They consummated their marriage in front of a fire of applewood, on quilts that smelled of lavender, and it was perfect.

And, miraculously, the ceiling did not cave in.

"This is nice," Jemma murmured sleepily afterward, lying on her back in their rumpled nest. He lightly stroked the curve of her waist as her lashes fluttered. "I've never laid naked in front of a fire before."

"Which is criminal." Her skin looked almost gilded in the light. "We'll steal Sif's spot a few times this winter. She'll forgive us eventually."

"I'm going to hold you to that." She turned her head and brushed a kiss against his shoulder. "I love you."

Her obvious earnesty, her soft gaze- at that moment, he would have given her anything. "I love you, too," he replied, stroking a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Can I get you anything? Champagne, strawberries, the moon…"

She stretched with a contented sigh. "I just want to lay here for a while."

"And fall asleep?"

"Probably." She closed her eyes, smiling. "I'm so happy."

"You should always be happy," he said, wrapping an arm around her. "You deserve to be happy."

"So do you." She snuggled close, still lying unashamedly naked in the firelight. "You'll cover me if the manager knocks?" she asked in a murmur, her breath warm against his chest.

"And I'll wake you." He pressed a kiss to her hair, drowsy himself. "Are you comfortable?"

"Umm-hmm."

"We'll have a real bed tomorrow."

She chuckled. "Unless we break it."

"We could certainly try."

"Prefer if we didn't."

Her speech was slightly slurred, and she was so relaxed against him that he didn't bother to continue their banter. Instead he stroked her hair, lulling her to sleep as best he could.

"Sweet," was the last word she said before her breathing slowed.

He didn't join her in sleep immediately- not because he couldn't, but because he simply didn't want to. When the fire dimmed he pulled one of the quilts over them both, not wanting Jemma to be awakened by the cold. She grumbled in her sleep at the movement and pressed tighter against his side.

 _Perfect_ , he thought, and finally slept.

* * *

"Well, on the plus side, we didn't break _this_ bed," Jemma said cheerily as they examined the broken vase that was now scattered across the floor.

"Technically we haven't had a chance to break the bed," he pointed out with a grin. "But if you keep standing there in just a sarong, I would be willing to give it a shot."

His wife's smile turned teasing. "I'd better put my bikini back on, then."

"That bikini was what started this all in the first place." He scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the room, away from the broken glass. "That bikini is dangerous," he added as he placed her back on her feet.

"That bikini is my new favorite," she replied with a laugh, reaching for one of the miniscule scraps of fabric that had led to inadvertent destruction of property. "Just be glad that we didn't also break the table."

"We could work on that, too." He moved closer, leaning down to press a kiss to the curve of her neck. "I really enjoyed bending you over that table, with just that wisp of silk tied around your waist."

"I'll keep that in mind." She tapped the tip of his nose gently with one finger, her smile wicked. "Put on your trunks, dear. I want to get some sun before our next attempt at vandalism."

He lingered, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Are you happy?" he asked quietly, fairly certain of her answer but needing to check. "This hasn't gone exactly to plan."

"It's been better than the plan." She rose to her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his in a brief, sweet kiss. "We have five more days, and I'm looking forward to every one of them."

"Good." Feeling almost absurdly content, he kissed her forehead before pulling on his swim trunks. "Let's go, then. We have furniture to break."

"Monsoons to get caught in."

"Maybe we'll be attacked by a monkey."

"Or caught in a riptide." She took his hand, her smile wide and unfeigned. "Imagine the stories we'll have."

"Imagine how embarrassed the children will be by them."

"I do like that." She pulled him out the door, leading him toward the white sandy beach that lay just ahead. "Let's go find some trouble."


End file.
